


The Last Wave By

by losingmymindtonight



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I mean it's not the saddest thing I've ever written but this one is pretty sad y'all, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sad, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is also a liar but we forgive him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingmymindtonight/pseuds/losingmymindtonight
Summary: There was nothing beautiful about death.Peter didn’t understand why so many movies seemed to think that there was, that there was something heroic and worthwhile in it, because Peter had seen it up close, had smelt it, touched it, and it was... it was indescribably horrific. It was ugly, and traumatizing, and you were never, ever ready.There was no version of existence where Peter would’ve been prepared for Tony to die.--Tony leaves Peter the EDITH glasses, except this time, he also leaves him a message.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 49
Kudos: 316





	The Last Wave By

**Author's Note:**

> she’s back from the dead! it’s the losingmymindtonight you know & hate, except this time she comes with record low mental health and a twilight obsession/coping mechanism.
> 
> anyway, this is sad. sorry about that. it's been sitting in my drafts, half-finished, since the post-endgame ffh trailer came out. there was a rumor going around at the time that we'd learn something big about tony's past in the film, and I saw an irondad acct on instagram jokingly say that it'd be that tony was peter's dad. thought it would be kinda fun to explore that, despite my usual lack of interest in bio dad content. this was originally going to have a second chapter where I magically reveal that tony's alive, but then I decided that the story deserved to stand w/o the emotional softening.
> 
> sometimes, life is just a lil sad.
> 
> oh, and while I have y’all here… wear a mask & register to vote. then make donald trump cry in high definition on november 3rd. yeah. do that. as, like, a favor to me. it’s all I have left.
> 
> WARNINGS: aftermath of a canonical character death, strong themes of grief, depression and other depictions of struggling mental health (there are NO references to suicidal thoughts/behaviors or self-harm), mentions of infidelity/cheating

_Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,  
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,  
Do not go gentle into that good night._

\--

There was nothing beautiful about death.

Peter didn’t understand why so many movies seemed to think that there was, that there was something heroic and worthwhile in it, because Peter had seen it up close, had smelt it, touched it, and it was... it was indescribably horrific. It was ugly, and traumatizing, and you were never, ever ready.

There was no version of existence where Peter would’ve been prepared for Tony to die. And he knew, he _knew_ , that it would’ve happened eventually. It was inevitable. People died. Tony was 30 years older than him. He would’ve died first, then Peter, and so the cycle went.

But he never would’ve been ready. _Never_.

He remembered that Tony had warned him, once, in that gripe-heavy kind of voice that he often brought out when he was trying to impress something important into Peter’s memory, that head injuries compounded. The more times he let some side alley drug dealer smash his face into the ground or the nearest dumpster, the worse his concussions would be. 

Peter was starting to wonder if grief was like that, too. This was, after all, not the first time he had waded through the floodwaters of loss. He had known the murkiness of tragedy’s grip for most of his life. But now, it felt like he had finally reached his pinnacle, his breaking point: with each consecutive heartbreak, the losses amalgamated into something even worse, something even more dark and even more monstrous.

The waters just kept rising, gray and churning and stark, and he only had so much high ground left before they surged into his lungs.

It went without saying that the weeks immediately following the funeral had been hard, which was the simplest way Peter thought he would ever express the bone-deep, eclipsing misery that seemed to snarl up in everything he did. About a week in, Pepper had given him a list of SHIELD certified therapists, and gently told him that she’d pay for everything, which he knew was an offer that May was desperate for him to accept. Only a few days later, when it had become clear that Peter was willing to do just about _anything_ to avoid talking to a stranger about watching Tony die in high definition, Rhodey had told him that, at the very least, _he_ was always there to talk. And a part of Peter had wanted to, had wanted to _so badly,_ but he still hadn’t been able to forget what he’d overheard Rhodey say to Pepper one evening, when they had both thought he was long asleep.

_“He looks just like him, Pep. He... Fuck, he looks_ just _like him. I didn’t see it before, but now I don’t get how I didn’t. He’s got the jaw, the nose…”_

_“I know, James. I see it too.”_

_“Sometimes... Sometimes I can’t stand to look at him. Morgan... She’s so young, that it’s easier, somehow, but Peter... he’s got too much of Tony in him.”_

He’d scampered back to his room after that, the guilt gnawing at his chest nearly as much as the grief.

He already knew that he was a burden. He’d been staying with Pepper and Morgan ever since he’d come back, since May and Happy were living together in a one bedroom apartment, which was already something he was struggling to process, and May hadn’t wanted him sleeping on the couch. Pepper was beyond kind to him, and so were Rhodey and Happy and all of the other remaining Avengers, but they all treated him _differently_ , too. He didn’t know if it was because he’d Dusted, or because he’d been marked—against his will and against all reason—as the remnant of a dead man, or because of something else he was too grief-dulled to grasp, but it made him feel analyzed, small.

The last thing he wanted was to be a reminder of Tony’s ghost.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice destabilized his spiral, pulling him into to the present by a handful of strings, and he didn’t know if he resented or treasured the interruption. “Mister Parker,” she said, trim and proper and detached as always, “Mrs. Stark is requesting your presence downstairs.”

One of his least favorite activities nowadays was getting out of bed, but he knew that he had to. Pepper very rarely asked anything of him. He didn’t have chores, she didn’t make him show up to family dinners. She let him sulk in silence. When she found him sitting at the dock in the early hours of the morning, reaching for Tony in the last place he’d had a sense of him, she’d just wrap a blanket around his shoulders and leave him to his grief.

So he stood, retreated from the warm apathy of his comforter, and fumbled down the stairs. He was glad, at least, that it was the middle of the day, and Morgan was at preschool. As much as he loved her, as much as he wanted to be something worthwhile in her life, her innocence and energy wore on him. She didn’t understand that Tony was never coming back. Not really, at least. The permanence of it all just hadn’t sunk in.

Sometimes, she still asked Pepper when Daddy was coming home.

He was only a little surprised to find Rhodey and Happy in the living room, sitting on either side of Pepper on the couch. He’d been waiting for them to stage an intervention.

“Hi,” he said softly, dumbly, because he wasn’t sure what the protocol here was. He knew that in movies, he was supposed to reel against the help that was offered. He was supposed to push it away: a stubborn determination that misery was better than anything else the world could offer.

But he didn’t feel that way. He _wanted_ to be happy. He did. He wanted to look back at his memories of Tony and feel something besides a gaping, chest-creaking wound.

He just didn’t know how.

Pepper smiled at him, voice and face gentle, coaxing. “Hey, sweetheart. You wanna sit with us?”

“Sure.”

He settled down on the loveseat across from them, perched on the edge of the cushion. He was hyperaware of how uncomfortable, stiff, _awkward_ he looked, but he didn’t know how to relax. Didn’t even know if this was the kind of conversation where it was _okay_ for him to relax.

“Now,” Pepper started, and Peter distantly wondered if Happy and Rhodey were ever going to speak, or if their only purpose was to stare at him with bleeding pity, “do you remember when I had to go to Malibu last week?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. 

“Well, I had to go to meet with Tony’s lawyer.” Peter flinched at the name, but tried his best not to show any other reaction. “We’ve,” Pepper gestured between herself, Happy, and Rhodey, “been going through his will since then, and we’ve all decided that it’s time you were included. Is that alright?”

Peter swallowed, feeling woefully small. He could barely process the _emotions_ of Tony’s death, let alone the legalities of it.

“I don’t know anything about… about that kind of stuff. My parents just left everything to May and Ben.”

Pepper and Rhodey shared a look.

“It’s alright, Peter,” Pepper said. “We’re going to explain everything to you.” She paused, then looked back to Rhodey. “Are you… God, James, are you sure?”

Peter didn’t miss the way Rhodey’s gaze darted over to him, just for a breath, and he certainly didn’t miss the flash of pity that filled up his expression. “He needs to know. Tony said that he wanted him to.”

Something tortured passed over Pepper’s face, but then she captured it, schooled it. When she met Peter’s eyes again, there was nothing but soft empathy there.

“There’s something I have to give you,” she said, a strain lurking behind the words. “It was Tony’s, but he left it to you.”

She lifted a glasses case off of the coffee table. It had blended in so well that Peter hadn’t noticed it before. It was wooden, worn, discolored: certainly not the style of anything he would’ve associated with Tony.

She passed the case into his hands. He slid his fingers over it, slow, reverent. The wood was smooth and shined from being handled over and over again. He thought about Tony holding it, his hands ghosts over Peter’s own. 

He sniffed hard, blinked back the crash of emotion that threatened to unmoor him. “What, uh, what is it?” He winced, realizing how stupid and whiny the question must’ve sounded. “It’s-I, uh, it’s just that, well, I’ve never seen this before.”

“No,” Pepper said, lips twisting into an expression that he couldn’t quite place. “It’s a… a prototype he was working on.”

“Open it,” Rhodey ordered, watching him sharply, and Peter did.

While the case was entirely foreign, the glasses inside _did_ ring vaguely familiar, but only vaguely. Then again, he’d seen Tony… a lot. He never spent much time staring at the style of his clothes, or his tie, and certainly not his sunglasses. When they’d been together, he was much more interested in other things.

Besides, Tony usually pulled his sunglasses off as soon as he saw Peter. He only ever really wore them when other people were around.

“They’re, uh, they’re nice,” he whispered, because he wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reaction he was meant to be having. Gratitude, certainly, and he _was_ grateful. Grateful to hold even a tiny piece of what Tony Stark once was.

It was just… difficult to show gratitude, when the grief was still so overcoming.

“They’re not just sunglasses, Peter,” Pepper offered, and she seemed nervous, hesitant. “They’re… well, they’re a housing unit for an AI, really. Something he’d been working on for a long, long time. And he left it to you. He left… He left it _all_ to you.”

He felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“What… What do you mean by…?”

“There’s a long list,” Rhodey said, a wry smile on his face. “A _very_ long list. Of all the things I thought Tony’d be _thorough_ about, of course it’d be his goddamn will.”

“Everything in his lab is yours, Peter,” Pepper added. “You’re one of the only people who has access to all of his research. Every file he ever created, every process he ever logged: it’s all there, and it’s… it’s all for you, honey. He left all of it for you.”

“And a trust fund,” Happy said, and Peter had almost forgotten that he was there. “Half the damn company, once Pepper decides you’re ready. He split it between you and Morgan.”

“ _Happy_ ,” Pepper chastised, breathy and half-resigned. “We weren’t… We were going to give him some time before we dumped all of that on him.”

Happy just shrugged. “Rhodey’s right. He deserves to know.”

Peter’s head was swimming. He’d _loved_ Tony. He’d loved him so naturally that he hadn’t even realized how deep that love _was_ until he’d been dead and gone. He’d loved him, and he’d been so desperate to know that that love was returned, but… but he had never imagined this. Had never imagined that Tony would leave him _anything_ like this.

“I… I don’t understand,” he rasped. He let go of the case, let it drop into his lap, then clenched his hands fiercely into fists, ignoring the discomfort of his fingernails biting into his palms. “Why… Why would he _do that?_ I don’t understand.”

All three of the adults shared a glance, and Peter had the disconcerting sensation of staring down at a half-finished puzzle. He was at the very edge of deciphering the image it was meant to depict, just a few missing pieces shy of the truth.

“He loved you very much, Peter,” Pepper finally said, voice cracking a little. “And I think…” She shook her head, then pointed to the case still resting in his lap. “I… I can’t explain it to you, and it’s… it’s not really my place to, either. He left you a message in those. I think… I think it’d be best if you went to your bedroom, and watched it.”

He tried to ignore the sensation that he was being thrust off to face some awful fate alone. That was… That was just dramatic.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He just stood slowly, mechanically, and dutifully turned away.

“Peter,” Pepper said, quiet, stalling him.

He turned back to her, hoping with everything he had that she couldn’t see how badly his hands were shaking.

“Sometimes,” Pepper continued, hushed. Both Happy and Rhodey averted their eyes, as if they were intruding on something private, “people keep secrets from you because they think they’re doing what’s best. That… That doesn’t mean that they love you any less. Do you understand?”

He swallowed. Suddenly, the case in his hands felt like an immense weight.

“Yes,” he whispered.

She smiled at him, and it was sad, and it didn’t do anything but make Peter want to sink into the floor, and disappear.

“Remember that, okay?”

“Okay.”

He turned around, and kept walking. Had the distance between the couch and his bedroom always been this far? He didn’t think so, but then again, he wasn’t sure if time and distance and reality were functioning normally, right now. Everything felt wobbly, swaying in ripples and breeze.

“We’ll be here when you’re done,” Rhodey called out just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and the sense of foreboding that had been slowly growing in his chest took firm root.

He didn’t answer. He just bolted up the stairs, desperate to get _somewhere_.

When he got to his room, he locked the door behind him.

He sat cross-legged on his bed, the case laid out against his trembling palms. It creaked a little when he opened it, and he wondered if the sound would be audible to anyone else, or if he was only picking up on it because of his enhanced hearing.

He wondered if it had even creaked at all, or if he’d made the whole thing up in his head.

There was a little card nestled underneath the glasses. He slid it out slowly. The Stark Industries logo was emblazoned on the back, shiny and reflective in the sunlight pouring through his open window. He flipped it over, and his chest seized at the familiar handwriting.

_For the next Tony Stark,  
I trust you.  
P.S. Say EDITH.  
-T.S._

He resisted the urge to shove the sunglasses, the case, the stupid card as far away from himself as possible. That note… That note was _stupid_. There would never be another Tony Stark. Never. Why had Tony thought that Peter was _at all_ worthy of that legacy?

What had made Tony think that he had the bravery to bear it?

But instead of running, of denying, he picked up the glasses, and put them on, because at the heart of it, he was still just a kid grieving… something. Not a father, not an uncle, not a mentor. In all honesty, he didn’t know what Tony had been to him, but he’d been important, that was for sure, and Peter missed him down to the marrow in his bones.

“Edith?” He whispered, and the lenses lit up.

“Stand by for retinal and biometric scan,” a voice said, and Peter might’ve flinched if he hadn’t been so used to Tony’s AIs. “Retinal and biometric scan accepted.”

“Hello?” He asked, wincing at his own hesitation.

“Hello, Peter,” the AI said, and maybe he’d been imagining it, but he swore that she sounded _fond_. “I am E.D.I.T.H., Tony Stark’s augmented reality, security, and defense system.”

He cleared his throat. He knew, distantly, that there was a time when he would’ve been freaking out over this, knew that there was a time when meeting one of Tony’s new AIs would’ve filled him with chattering excitement.

He didn’t feel it now, though. The chasm inside of him was too ever-wide. Nothing as light and as airy and as intoxicating as joy could escape it. And it _did_ occur to him, in a chest-aching immediacy, what a tragedy it was that he’d lost those feelings.

“Hi, E.D.I.T.H..” He bit his lip. “It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you.”

“And you, Peter,” she said, warm. “Tony has left a message for you. Would you like me to play it?”

He had to force his response out past the knot in his throat. “Uh, yes. Please, I mean. Yes, please.”

“Initiating hologram.”

There was a flickering across the room, a gentle hum at his temple, and then Tony was right there, right in front of him, and he wondered if his being would implode from the force of the _longing_ that clenched in his stomach.

The hologram of Tony was straddling a chair, but only the back of it, right where Tony’s arms rested against the wood, was visible. If Peter strained his eyes, he could just barely make out that the projection wasn’t entirely opaque, either, and that the half-opened angle of his sock drawer made a strange underlay shadow in the center of Tony’s chest. 

He wasn’t real. Peter knew that. But… But Tony was looking right at him, eyes blue-tinged but gentle, adoring, and it was so easy to forget.

He wanted him back. He wanted him back so, _so_ badly. He needed him to be here. He needed him more than he’d ever needed anything else in the entire course of his life. He was going to buckle under the weight of this needing. It was going to take him and break him and spit him out.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t know how.

“Tony,” he whispered, tears already thread-baring his voice, but the hologram didn’t respond because _of course_ it didn’t.

Tony was dead. This was just a remnant of him. A slice. A memory trapped in digital time.

Peter choked on another sob, and resisted the urge to reach out and try to snag the lapel of the man’s blazer in his hand.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said, voice timbre and familiar in Peter’s ears. “If you’re watching this, then I… I really screwed up my whole _get the Infinity Stones and come home alive_ plan, huh?” He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know you’re probably real pissed off at me, ‘cause you’ve got that bullshit belief that your life isn’t worth anything compared to someone else’s, but I want you to know that if I died bringing you home, then I’m… well, I’m at peace with that, buddy, and I know damn sure that you were worth it.

“There are a hell of a lot of things I need to tell you, kid. So many things. But I’ve only got so much time, so you’ll have to bear with me, because I’m about to tell you something that I should’ve told you a long time ago. Point is: you’d better listen up.”

Tony paused, shifting nervously in his invisible chair, and Peter wondered if it was possible for his heart to squirm its way out of his chest, or if he was just imagining the sensation.

“I don’t think there’s an easy way to drop this kind of bomb on you,” Tony mused, a wry twist of humor in the words, “so I’ll just go for explaining it as plainly as I can. See, you know I’ve been studying your DNA. That’s not a secret. And I’ve told you almost everything I’ve found. Now, of course, the keyword there is _almost_. And in my defense, I didn’t hide anything about the mutation.” Tony cracked a smile. “I promise that you aren’t gonna start randomly sprouting extra limbs, or anything like that. Jesus, that’d be a nightmare, wouldn’t it? There’s too much of you already. As much as I love you, kid, I don’t think the world’s ready for any extra Peter.”

Tony sobered, then, shaking his head as if internally chastising himself for deflecting.

“Sorry, sorry. That was… a certifiably bad joke. Sorry.” Another smile, this time apologetic. “See, when I looked at your samples, the first thing I wanted to do was run a quick, dirty comparison between your DNA and a sample from an average, unaltered human. I just wanted to get an idea of the obvious differences before I got into the minutiae. You get that, yeah? Bet you were doing that kind of stuff in the third grade. And, well, the easiest way to get a simple comparison was to use my own samples against yours.” Tony let out a breath, dragged a hand down his face. “I pulled up both our samples, looked at them side by side, and… shit, Pete. I’m so sorry I never told you this. I always meant to, but then I’d get close and I’d just tell myself that it’d be fine, because I’d get around to it eventually, when the time was right. And now, look at us.” Tony spread his arms, laughing bitterly. “You should’ve heard this straight from me, in person, when I was still around to… to answer your questions. And to be a verbal punching bag, if you were pissed, which I’m feeling you might have a right to be.”

The thing was: Peter _wasn’t_ pissed. He had a horrible, sinking feeling that he knew exactly what Tony’s confession was, because he saw the truth reflected back at him in the mirror every morning, but he wasn’t pissed. Wasn’t angry.

He just felt cheated.

“But I never told you, because I was a coward,” Tony continued, and then a deep, visceral sadness seemed to crumble over his expression, “and now you’re… you’re gone, Pete, and I never even got to tell you the truth.”

There was a second where Tony’s resolve seemed to fragment, but then he salvaged it, sat up straighter. Shook his head, as if clearing it of the emotional clutter.

“No, you’re _not_ gone. Not if you’re watching this. And that means that you deserve to know the truth, even if you decide that you never want to acknowledge it again.” Tony nodded to himself, solidifying his choice. “Alright, let me start at the beginning. See, back during the 90s and the early 2000s, I was doing… a lot of stuff that I hope that you _never_ do. It’s not a secret, and while I’m not proud of it, I’m not as ashamed of it as maybe I ought to be. It’s who I was, and there’s no changing it now. The point is, I slept with a lot of women, Pete. So many that it took me a while, as well as F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s help, to remember the one that really, really mattered.

“Your mother was a geneticist. I’m sure you know that, but I’m reiterating so you understand. We met in December of 2000 at a Christmas party. It was hosted by some bigwig in the science world, it doesn’t matter who, and your mother was, well, she’d been fighting with your father. They were engaged, but… people are people, Peter, and they make mistakes.” Tony paused suddenly, something hard and certain passing over his face. “No. You know what? It _wasn’t_ a mistake, because eight months later, you happened.”

Tony was smiling again, and Peter could feel himself crying in earnest, now, but he didn’t know why, because he wasn’t _feeling_ anything. He was reminded distantly of the time he’d been shot: the wound hadn’t even hurt until he’d woken up in the hospital. The impact and the shock had stunned it away. Maybe that had happened again, except this time, it wasn’t a physical wound. It was something else, something deeper.

“I remember you telling me that you were a preemie, once,” Tony said, and he was still grinning, like this wasn’t the most insane thing that had ever happened to Peter. Like this wasn’t royally, royally screwed up. Like he didn’t feel like he was in a bad episode of May’s favorite soap opera. “I don’t remember why it came up, but it makes sense now. Just couldn’t wait to grace us with your presence, huh?”

“Tony,” he whispered again, fruitless, knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference. There was no one left to hear him.

It was, as Peter seemed to find nearly all of his efforts, too little, too late.

“I realize that I haven’t actually said it, have I? But you’re a clever kid. You probably figured it out at the top of this thing.” Tony’s grip tightened on the back of his chair. “You deserve to hear me say it, though, as cheesy as it is. You’re my… Well, you’re _my kid_ , Peter. Then again, you’ve _always_ been that. You were that long before I knew that I gave you half of your DNA. And that’s just another thing that I really need you to know, buddy. I, well,” Tony sniffed hard, “I loved you before all of this. Everything else is just… it’s just details, kid. I didn’t bring you back just because of some biological obligation. I would’ve done it whether we were related or not.

“I know that this is probably a lot to take in, and I know that it’s not… well, it’s definitely not the best time or the best way to tell you. But you’re… you’re a really good kid, Pete. You are _such_ a good kid.” Tony’s voice cracked on the nickname. “I am so, _so_ proud of you. And this is gonna get uncomfortably emotional for both of us, but screw it, I’m dead.”

Peter bit down so harshly on his lip that he tasted blood. The words rang out in his head like a clattering bell. _I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead._

Peter had spent most of his life thinking that his father was gone, spent so many nights wishing that he had the families that his friends did. Now, he knew that those dreams hadn’t been as impossible as he’d thought. His father _hadn’t_ been gone, _hadn’t_ been dead. He’d been right there, in the same city as Peter. He’d been just within his reach.

He’d been _alive_.

He’d been alive, but he wasn’t now. Tony was gone. Tony was _dead_.

“Before Morgan, before _you_ , I didn’t realize that I was capable of creating anything good. But god, Pete, _look at you_. You’re a thousand times better than me. And I’m sure there’s a lot of muttering going on about my legacy right now, and I’m sure people are talking about my suits and SI and all of that, but at the end of the day, it’s you and Morgan, kid. I’ll never give anything better to the world. _You_ are what I leave behind, and I know that everything I built… It’s safe with you two. You’re gonna take it and you’re gonna run with it and it’s going to be _so much better_ than anything I could’ve ever dreamed of.”

Tony pulled in a shaky breath, and Peter mimicked him. He was clutching the soft fabric of his comforter in his fist, and he distantly, mutedly, wondered if he was ripping it. He probably was, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t get more time, buddy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you were little, and I am so, so sorry that I won’t be there for the rest of your life, too. I can’t tell you how much I want that. I want to see you graduate, and go to college, fall in love, get married. I’d give just about anything to have a chance to see those moments. But things don’t always work out the way we want them to, kid. You and I know that better than anybody else.”

And Peter _did_ know that. Nothing had ever, ever worked out the way he wanted them to. Not really. He hadn’t wanted his parents to die. He hadn’t wanted to be the unwanted burden thrust into May and Ben’s lives. He hadn’t wanted to be so sickly, to be so smart, to cost so much in food and tuition and hospital bills. He hadn’t wanted Ben to follow him out that night, and he hadn’t wanted what happened next.

He hadn’t wanted to become Spider-Man.

He hadn’t wanted to die on Titan.

He would’ve given everything if it meant that Tony would’ve lived.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Tony was saying, as if he could read his thoughts. Anticipated them long before Peter had even been alive to think them. “I know it’s… I know it’s all hollow, right now, but it’s going to get better. And you’re probably shaking your head at that, but I’m right. I promise I’m right. Grief isn’t easy, but the world’s still spinning outside of it. And some days, that’s gonna make you pissed to all hell, but some days aren’t _all_ days. And on the days you’re so angry that you can’t even think straight? That’s okay, too. Go hit something that won’t break your hand. It’ll help. And when the good days come, just… just let them come, Pete. Don’t hide from them because you feel guilty. I’m always gonna be closest to you when you’re having a good day, buddy. That’s all a parent wants for their child. We… We want you guys to be happy. And we’d give pretty much anything to make that happen.”

_You dying didn’t make me happy,_ Peter thought, bitter. _You said you’d give anything to do that, but it wasn’t true. It’s not true._

“Just don’t get so lost in the sadness that you forget to live, okay? Because you’ve got to _live_ , kid.” Tony chuckled, and it wasn’t until he reached up to wipe at his face that Peter realized that Tony was crying, too. Both of them were. “God, the life you’re gonna have, huh? It… It better be one hell of a life. It’s the only thing I’d ever accept for you.”

Tony’s gaze dropped down to the back of the chair, and he paused for so long that Peter wondered if he’d reached the end of the recording. If Tony had just cut the whole thing off in the middle of the thought. But then he shifted, hands tightening on the chair’s non-existent wood, and he met Peter’s eyes again, reluctant and unsure.

“I… I don’t know if I have a right to ask you to do _anything_ , especially after this, but if you would… look after your sister, yeah? She’s gonna need people, and Rhodey and Happy’ll be great, I know they will, but you’re her big brother. That’s... well, that’s special, Pete. That’s not a relationship that you want to miss out on.”

Tony stood. The tiny part of the chair that had been visible before vanished, and he took a handful of steps closer, walking blindly into a room he couldn’t see. Peter didn’t know if he wanted to scramble forward and fling himself backwards, but in the end, he didn’t do either.

He just sat there, numb and trembling.

Tony seemed to set his hand on some invisible switch, but then he lingered, eyes darting back up to meet Peter’s head-on, quiet and intense.

“I love you, Peter. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had known you existed when you were just a baby, because I don’t think I was the kind of person who should’ve had _any_ interaction with a child, but… but I know I would’ve loved you. I would’ve loved you with everything I had.”

The hologram went dark.

\--

Everyone was waiting for him when he came tumbling down the stairs. Just like they’d promised.

Pepper took one look at his face and stood, arms held out in silent shelter, and maybe before he wouldn’t have accepted it, would’ve pushed himself out farther to sea just to prove that he could swim, but the waves were high and strong and he was drowning in them. He just wanted a tether. He just wanted someone to strap him to shore.

He stumbled to her, let her bundle him up against her chest. He sensed rather than saw Happy and Rhodey avert their eyes. He wondered if they did it for his privacy, or because watching him come apart just hurt too much.

Slowly, he pulled his face away from Pepper’s collarbone, rested his chin in her shoulder. Rhodey’s eyes were on the front door, hands clenched stoically in his lap.

“I look like him,” Peter whispered, and it seemed to take Rhodey a good few seconds to realize that the comment was directed at him. “I look… I look _so much_ like him.”

“Yeah, kid,” Rhodey said, voice rough. “You and Morgan both have his eyes.”

He’d… He’d known that, hadn’t he? Somewhere deep inside him, he’d known. It was why he’d been so unnerved every time he looked in the mirror and felt like there was a ghost staring back.

He clung closer to Pepper, burying his face into the soft silk of her blouse, hiding the eyes that weren’t meant to be his, wishing with everything he had that he could melt through her. That, somehow, if he closed his eyes and squeezed her hard enough, the world would change its mind, morph into something kinder.

“That’s why he left me and Morgan everything,” he whimpered, and he knew it was probably the wrong thought to voice in that moment, but it was on his tongue, came scattering out. “That’s… _That’s_ why.”

Pepper shushed him for a second, until his breathing went from hurricane to tropical storm, and then she rocked him a little, so slow he almost didn’t notice. “Maybe partially.”

“He didn’t have to do that,” he gasped, wishing, with a sting of shame in his stomach, that Pepper was Tony. Wishing that he wasn’t missing so many pieces of home. “He-He didn’t have to.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Pepper murmured. Her hand ran through his hair, but it was wrong. It was _wrong_. She didn’t do it like him. “But he loved you, Peter. You were his child long before that DNA test put it on paper.”

“This is,” he searched for the words, floundering in the sea of everything he could say, drowning underneath the weight that no words would ever encompass it all, they would never built this feeling into structure, “this is… it’s so _unfair_.”

It was the childish thing to say, in the end, but Pepper didn’t punish him for it, didn’t let him go. She just kept holding him together, her voice just as soft and sorry as it had been before.

“I know, honey. I know.”

There was nothing beautiful about death. Peter still couldn’t understand why anybody could think that there was. He’d spend the rest of his life tripping over Tony’s absence. He’d spend the rest of his life wondering how it would’ve felt to hear his father tell him that he loved him before he’d been dead and buried and _gone_.

There was nothing beautiful about death, but there _was_ something frighteningly simple about the whole thing. Because Peter could complicate it all he wanted, string and construct it into something as large and magnificent as the way it felt in his chest, but at the end of the day, it went like this:

Peter wanted Tony more than he wanted anything else. But, despite the wishing, he would never, ever have him again.

\--

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,  
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

**Author's Note:**

> Because I know somebody is going to leave a comment complaining about this: Tony left his lab to Peter because leaving a lab full of dangerous equipment to his five-year-old daughter is not a Great Idea. And when Pepper says that Tony left his databases to Peter, she also mentions that Peter’s “one of the only” people who has access. Yes, Morgan is one of those people. I like to imagine that, one day, Peter and Morgan work together on some of Tony’s old projects. So, basically, please don’t attack me about erasing Morgan from the narrative. I’ve got 99 reasons to crawl in a depression hole and I’d rather the AO3 not be one.


End file.
